


waking up in vegas

by greenconverses



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Humor, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenconverses/pseuds/greenconverses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ring is glittery and gaudy and everything Annabeth’s worst nightmares are made of; it is not a ring she’d left her hotel room wearing last night. </p><p>It is, unmistakably, a <i>wedding ring</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waking up in vegas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt _things you said when you were drunk_.

The second morning she wakes up in Las Vegas, there is an unusual weight on Annabeth’s left hand.

It’s the first thing she notices – aside from the wicked headache pounding away at her skull, courtesy of one of the  _worst_  hangovers of her life, that is. She nearly pokes her eye out with it when she reaches up to rub sleep and crusty mascara out of her eyes, and when she pulls her hand back to glare at the offending weight, it sparkles like a diamond in the morning light.

No, it’s sparkling because it  _is_  a diamond. A diamond ring, actually.

 _Weird_ , Annabeth thinks, her brain fighting to put all the pieces of this puzzle together through the groggy haze of her hangover.  _It almost looks like a…_

Realization hits her like a freight train and Annabeth bolts upright in bed with a strangled gasp. Her head spins at the sudden movement, but the nauseated lurch of her stomach everything to do with the piece of jewelry on the fourth finger of her left hand.

The ring is glittery and gaudy and everything Annabeth’s worst nightmares are made of; it looks like diamond encrusted fly’s eye, so cumbersome and ridiculous that it will undoubtedly get caught in her hair, on her clothes, and maybe even in the door. It is not a ring she’d left her hotel room wearing last night.

It is, unmistakably, a  _wedding ring_.

“ _Di immortales_ ,” Annabeth swears, staring at the ring in shock. What on earth had she done last night?

She racks her memory, trying to come up with an explanation for why the damned thing is on her finger – any reason at all besides the glaringly obvious. But there’s nothing waiting for her other than the ghost sensations of tequila sliding smoothly down her throat, strong arms bandied around her waist, and the echo of her own giggly exclamation of, “I do!” in her mind.

No. No, this is not possible. Maybe she’s still drunk. Maybe this is an incredibly vivid dream or – or some kind of hallucination. Did people hallucinate during horrible hangovers? Maybe she would be the first, because there is no way that Annabeth Chase – sensible Annabeth, always have a plan for everything Annabeth _, think things through_ Annabeth – had gone and gotten herself drunkenly _married_  in Las Vegas.

No. Way.

She tears her gaze away from the ring ( _shudder_ ) and glances around her hotel room, as if she’ll find the truth plastered up on the wall. Her phone is hopelessly dead on the nightstand next to her, mere inches from its power cord, and her purse is strung haphazardly over the desk chair; it’s a small comfort to know that she at least didn’t lose her belongings along with her single status.

She’s also still wearing her clothes she’d gone out in last night, minus the pair of heels laying carelessly in the hallway between the door and the bathroom, which is an even bigger relief. Waking up naked in bed with a new husband beside her would’ve been one step too…

Wait.

Annabeth puts her building panic on hold for just a moment and takes another look around the room, noticing the sneakers near her heels and the shirt thrown over the lamp for the first time. There is no one in the bed next to her, but the sheets are rumpled and still carry a lingering warmth and the masculine scent of the ocean. If she’d gotten married last night (and that was a _big_  if), where had her boyfriend slash possible husband disappeared to?

Fortunately, the answer to that question decides to take that moment to waltz out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and heat.

Fresh out of the shower, Percy Jackson is a sight to behold. He’s naked except for a towel tied loosely around his waist and his torso glistens in the bright Nevada sunlight seeping through the slats of the window shade. He looks remarkably refreshed, significantly less hungover than she feels –  _asshole_  – and not at all panicked about possibly having gotten married the night before. He shoots her a grin when he sees that she’s awake.

“Hey Sleeping Beauty,” he teases, padding toward the bed. “How are you feeling? You had a bit of rough night.”

Annabeth blinks, startled at his casual attitude. How is she feeling?  _How is she feeling_? They’d apparently got  _married_  at last night, and he wants to know how she’s  _feeling_? Gods above, how could he ask her that with a straight face? Does he not remember either, or is he just trying to hold off the impending shitstorm by playing dumb and wandering around shirtless? This had to have been his idiotic idea in the first place. Gods knew  _she_  wasn’t the one who wanted to get married at 24; they weren’t even engaged yet, for fuck’s sake!

Well, if he thinks that the little water droplets still clinging to his abs will distract her from asking any serious questions, he’s sorely mistaken. 

Not that his abs  _aren’t_  distracting, because they most certainly are, but Annabeth would like to figure out  _why_  this stupid ring is on her finger before she gives in to the urge to lick her stupid boyfriend’s (husband’s?  _Ugh_ ) stomach muscles.

“Percy,” she croaks, holding out her left hand to him. “What’s this?”

Percy, who had begun to towel off his hair, pauses mid-motion and leans forward to inspect her hand. She half expects him to pull out his own particular brand of obliviousness and pretend not know what the ring represents; instead, he wrinkles nose and says, “Whoa. I don’t remember it being  _that_  ugly last night.”

Annabeth tastes bile in the back of her throat and she swallows back the urge to puke on Percy’s feet.  _Shit_. He remembers buying the ring, which means he probably remembers what happened after that, which means… which means…

“Percy,” she tries again, waving her hand limply in front of him. “This is a wedding ring. A  _wedding ring_. What is a wedding ring doing on my finger?”

Percy takes his sweet time answering, running the towel over his face and up into his hair, and Annabeth briefly considers leaping off the bed so she can strangle him. Her headache protests this idea, reminding her of its presence with a sharp stab in the temples, so she settles for glowering at the flexing muscles of his arm and chest instead.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember.  _You_  were the one who spent all night demanding – really loudly, by the way – that we get married,” he says, pushing the edge of the towel away from his face and peeking out at her. “Who knew tequila brought out the blushing bride in you?”

She gapes at him in disbelief. Before the fluttering panic in her chest grows into something scary and volatile, her eyes are drawn to the glimmer in Percy’s eyes and the smirk curling into life on his lips. She recognizes that look immediately.

He’s  _joking_.

Oh, blessed Athena, he’s  _joking_.

“You – are you… you can’t tease me about this, you  _jerk_!” she howls indignantly, lunging for him.

Percy laughs deeply, dodging her first swipe, but she catches him by the towel on the second and yanks him toward her. His knees hit the bed, the towel comes loose, and Percy tumbles on top of her without it. Despite the hangover and his shower damp skin, she manages to wrestle him under her – possibly because he’s laughing too much to put up much of a fight.

(Or, more likely, because he doesn’t mind having her sit astride him when he’s fully naked, even when she’s furious with him. The evidence of how much he doesn’t mind has already started poking her in the thigh.)

“You tell me the truth right now,” Annabeth growls, bending over him. “Did we or did we  _not_  get married last night, Percy Jackson?”

He swallows the last of his laughter, though his eyes still shine with mirth as he shakes his head and replies, “Despite your best efforts, no. We  _did_  have to stage a wedding to stop you from sobbing in the Bellagio’s lobby — which Piper has plenty of pics of, by the way — but you and I? We are officially unmarried.”

Annabeth slumps against him, practically boneless with the pure relief that’s rolling through her. “Oh,  _thank the gods_.”

Percy wraps an arm around her, bringing his hand up to play with the mess of curls at the base of her neck, and he kisses her gently. “I hope that’s not your general reaction to the idea of marrying me, ‘cause talk about way harsh, Annabeth.”

“Of course not,” she snorts, meeting his green eyed gaze and poking him in the chest. “If I’m gonna marry you, Jackson — ”

“If?”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. “ _When_  I marry you,” she corrects. “I want it to be because I’m ready to, _not_  because I got inspired by consuming one too many tequila sunrises. I’d also like to remember the majority of it and for there not to be an Elvis impersonator officiating… there wasn’t one, was there?”

“Oh, there was. Like I said, Piper’s got pics and  _video_ ,” Percy says, grinning at her pained groan. His grin eventually fades and his brow furrows as he shifts under her, twirling one long strand of her hair around his finger. “You think that day will come around soon, Annabeth? When you wanna get married?”

Annabeth shrugs. Considering her freak out this morning, that day is probably farther away than Percy wants. They’re still young; there’s no reason to rush anything as serious as marriage, especially not if Her Royal Pain in the Assness Hera is still president of the I Hate Annabeth Chase Fan Club. She’s also into in the right mood to seriously discuss marriage with him anyway, not when it feels like a bunch of Minotaurs are tramping around in her skull.

“It could,” Annabeth offers, giving him a reassuring smile. She waggles her left hand at him playfully, letting her ring catch the light, and decides it’s her turn to tease him. “But maybe we should get engaged first? And, no this ring does not count, Seaweed Brain. I might’ve had to divorce you if it was the real thing.”

Percy snags her hand and pulls the ring off, examining it closely. “I wouldn’t blame you. It’s pretty damn ugly.”

After this appraisal, he carelessly tosses the ring aside, where it lands with a small  _plink_  on the floor. Annabeth glances in the direction it fell and leans away from him, as if she’s going to go retrieve it, but pauses when he wraps a gentle hand around wrist. She turns back to him, and the warm smile that’s appeared on his lips inexplicably makes her heart skip a beat. 

Again, she feels like she’s missing a piece or two to a puzzle, but then, Percy places a small blue velvet box in her outstretched hand and she understands.

“Good thing  _this_  is the real one then, isn’t it?”


End file.
